


Sage

by Ishti



Series: Rhenegade Spinoffs [3]
Category: Aveyond
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti
Summary: How's Danny doing? Mid-fic interlude.





	Sage

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically Rhenegade-dependent. It occurs between chapters 25 and 26; it is NOT required reading, so you can read it anytime after chapter 25!

It was always her gang, her garden. He was okay with that. He could laugh endlessly and watch her smile, lips parted when she paused in her soliloquies. Those were things to get him out of bed in the morning, and gods, were they ever enough.

The forest had been uprooted. What was left was ablaze.

 

 

 

_ “‘...And now, tell me and tell me true. Where have you been wandering, and in what countries have you travelled?’” _

Sweetly rotting apples mingled with the soft brown leaves in the lower orchard. Cold sunlight flooded the eastern recesses of the cliff-bound clearing, illuminating the hollow of the largest maple tree, a snug size to cradle two bodies and a small stash of books. The wind, the light, the scents, the leaves beneath his feet, could fill him again with her warmth under his arm, her shifting wildflower braid, her rocky streamwater scent, the buzz-hum of her voice.

_ “‘Tell us of the peoples themselves, and of their cities--who were hostile, savage and uncivilized, and who, on the other hand, hospitable and humane. Tell us also why you are made unhappy on hearing about the return of the Rehbaan Asdi from Tyobi. The gods arranged all this, and sent them their misfortunes in order that future generations might have something to sing about.’” _

It was difficult to be here now, in this space, in any space where they’d touched.

Danny was glad he’d decided to leave Clearwater just after Rhen and Peter ran away. It gave him time and space to stifle the resentment he wished he didn’t feel. He’d traveled so far to find her and to rescue her, and he’d nearly died at the hands of vampires, and it felt like she was spitting in the face of all that by… just…  _ running away. _ For  _ no reason. _ Because she missed her  _ new _ best friend.

But he’d just ended their unfulfilling romance for exactly this reason: he knew who she was and what path she would choose. What she  _ should _ choose. He had to remember that whatever was going on with her wasn’t about him.

Rhen was right about Danny, actually: he wasn’t ready to travel the world. He realized this as soon as his foot hit the pavement. He might’ve been ready had he not been  _ entirely _ alone, but he was, in fact,  _ entirely _ alone, so he spent a moment standing there, having said goodbye to his mother and to Rhen and Peter’s mothers for good measure, and feeling each of the hairs on his arms stand straight on end as he recalled the looks in those motherly eyes and the deepening creases on their corresponding, concerned faces.

He sighed with all of the force in his throat and looked back at the wood tiled roofs rising up the mountainside behind him. The sight unsettled his stomach, but he knew that, if he really wanted to leave, he had to take it slowly.

 

 

 

“Sorry, Danny. You know I can’t take you for less than 250 coins.”

“But--”

Danny bit back a protest, aware he already sounded like a child. The cart driver’s face was indeed sympathetic as he lowered a collar over the head of one of his old draft horses. He and Danny had eaten lunch once or twice together at the marina when Landin arrived with an early passenger from the east, and Danny knew he was a kind old man in possession of a compassionate ear. But Danny also knew Landin couldn’t afford to take on passengers for free. The east-west route barely got enough business to keep the wheels oiled as it was.

_ But there were demons in Clearwater. _

“I’m sorry, lad,” repeated Landin in his soft brogue, his thick eyebrows peaking gently. “I’m filling up the cart today with a shipment from Harwhel’s.”

“B--?” Danny licked his lips, puzzled.  _ There are demons the way you’re going! There’s smoke! Hello? _

“I know it’s a bit unorthodox of me,” Landin rambled as he buckled the traces, “but I really must get to it now if I’m to reach the pass before sundown.”

“Sorry--sir, haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what, lad?”

“I mean… can’t you see the smoke there?” Danny gestured toward the highlands far in the eastern distance, shrouded in grey.

“Oh, just another one of those redwood fires.” Landin made a noise deep in his throat and shook his head. “A crying shame about those, but it’ll be over soon enough. I’m dropping my shipment at the warehouse through the pass before taking the road south.”

“It’s--it’s a little late in the year for a redwood fire--”

“What, then?”

Danny’s mouth felt dry. His voice came out quietly. “Demons?”

Landin sighed. “Laddie… by your own admission, you suffered some serious trauma out in the woods this year. I know it’s fresh in your heart. You’re going to have to remember the times when a fire is just,  _ just  _ a fire.”

He clapped a hand to Danny’s shoulder and rubbed it for a second before he turned away to busy himself with the crupper. Danny tried to keep the helplessness from showing on his face. He couldn’t just walk--it would take him a day at  _ least, _ and by the time he reached Clearwater….

Rhen and Peter weren’t there to save the village. All he had were a couple weeks’ training in Sedona with a real bow and several years’ experience sparring in the Peterhendanny Clearwater Varsity Swordplay Dueling Club with fake swords, but those made him a master of martial arts in comparison to every other Clearwater native, as far as he knew, and he  _ had _ to go back. Even if he could only fell a few demons, he knew he could at least fell a few.

Landin was already at the reins. “Shipment’s waiting, lad,” he said, tilting his head with another sad smile. “It’ll be all right.”

Danny nodded courteously, his head thundering too loudly to allow him speech. As Landin drove the cart off towards Harwhel’s for a shipment of wool, Danny’s eyes followed. There had to be a way. The cart was the  _ only _ way up the mountain-- _ no--don’t think like that or you’ll get stuck with your feet in the damn mud. Think like the wind. _

_ What would she do? _

 

 

 

One foot, then the other, one foot, then the other--fast as he could go without running, knees bent, weaving between the skinny aspen. His longbow was strapped to his back, as was his cloth quiver, cinched at the mouth, and all of his gear bound in by about twenty feet of thin rope, wrapped around his body like a harness. Landin’s cart rattled and rumbled down the road just feet ahead of him and to his right.

_ Gods, whose plan is this?! _

Danny resisted the urge to breathe faster. He bent as low as he could go. He had to get closer to this cart before he ran out of tree cover. There--he grabbed the running board-- _ ouch, _ that would splinter--and ran his feet along with the cart as fast as he could, pulling himself up with one hand, now two; and now, hooking one foot around it, and the other quickly before it could drag under the wheel, both at a horrible angle but now entirely off the ground.

He clung to the running board, whispering prayers to every god as the road raced past inches beneath the back of his head.

When his heart finally slowed to a reasonable pace, Danny opened his eyes and glanced at the underside of the cart beside him. Wool fabric peeked out between the old wooden boards, flooding his nose with the scent of sheep. The cart, perhaps five feet wide and ten long, was spacious enough to conceal Danny underneath, if he could find space for his hands and feet.

Tentatively, Danny released the running board with one hand and reached for a gap between the boards. The wood was rough, unfinished--he felt it cutting into his palm when he grasped it and winced. He craned his head to look down and eased his foot away from the running board into another gap, pushing some fabric up into the cart as he wiggled the toe of his boot securely into place.

When he was as confident as possible that his plan wouldn’t get him killed, he set to work on his other hand and foot, scooting himself toward the center of the cart. Once his feet were anchored, he freed his injured hands from their woollen prison, stretching his arms across the span of the cart and clinging to the sides.

He remembered to breathe.

The cart rattled and shook; the horses’ hooves clopped and stomped. Danny could see every rock and pothole as the wheels approached; his stomach turned preemptively each time, certain he’d fall and tumble between the spokes. His feet slipped four, five times, and his arms grew numb. He thought he might know the ground as the hours passed by, but by some blessing, he didn’t. Supporting his weight for so long, the pain in his chest and arms was nearly unbearable.

Danny clung to the underside of the wool-laden cart alone. He closed his eyes. This was something  _ she _ would do, not him. This was her. Would she be proud? She would be proud--

_ She can’t see you, Danny. She’s not here. It’s just you. _

The ground rumbled by and the highlands grew closer. Slowly, his eyes still shut, Danny stretched and loosened each of his muscles from his wrists to his ankles. In the shadow of the mountain pass, the tang of smoke mixing with the wool stuffing his lungs, he knew it was time to go. He bit his lip in concentration as he wormed his feet just loose enough, holding him still in place. His own breath was all he could hear.

_ Three… two… one. _

Danny dropped to the ground and rolled away, just barely dodging the back wheel of the cart.

He rose slowly to his knees, head pounding as the cart clattered away. His face and hair were coated in fine dirt; it was smudged across his lips, and he could taste it on his tongue, which did few favors for the slow dehydration he could feel creeping through his skull. He groaned quietly as he wiped his eyes. There wasn’t time to worry about himself--he had to be fine. Demons had been attacking Clearwater for  _ hours. _ He had to go.

The first thing he checked as he hurried deeper into the highlands was the bow at his back; it was in one piece, thank the gods. Then, the quiver; it was still tied off, all the arrows in place. He uncinched it.

The ravwyrns and even those odd, enchanted trees were nowhere to be found today as smoke engulfed the forest, purging it of color and motion. Danny ascended, unhindered, bow in hand. Faintly, he heard deep chanting and crude drumbeats snaking up the mountainside ahead--the road into town was taken, caves and all. He would have to climb.

With deep breaths, he steadied the motion of his heart. He unknotted the rope binding his equipment and unwound it from around his body as he hustled. Carefully, he reached behind his back and grabbed an arrow from his quiver, then tied the rope as tightly as he could to the arrow. He wished he could remember any of the sailing knots Captain John had halfheartedly shown him on that boat, but there was no point in wishing right now.

Bow drawn, Danny halted at the foot of a cliff. He aimed his arrow high and fired into the roots of a sturdy tree. It met its mark with a healthy  _ thunk. _

Hastily, Danny secured his bow and grabbed onto the rope with a wince as his tender palms met the hemp. He scrambled to find footholds on the cliff face, slipped, and banged his chin.

_ Calm down, Danny! You’re going to hurt yourself. _

With a deep breath, Danny set himself straight one foot at a time, and was over the cliff in less than a minute. He clung to the tree he’d shot and carefully snatched the arrow by his feet, discarding the projectile but untying the rope once he was back running on solid ground. A moment later, his bow was drawn at the foot of the next cliff, trailing the rope.

High on the mountainside, the uppermost cliff deposited Danny atop the Woodhams’ roof, and he was grateful for the immediate vantage of the situation below him as well as the skies above. Looking down, he was shocked to see that Tailor was commanding a defense against the demons, keeping fiends out of the village using the deployment of buildings and trees as if they were bulwarks and barricades. Tailor had a beautiful, gleaming sword which Danny had never seen before, nor could he imagine where it had come from; he hadn’t seen anything like it even in Sedona. Vanna looked ferocious with her root cutter, and Mrs. Baker’s bread knife was seeing some unintended use today.

But all of them were helpless against the assault from the sky. Skinny little demons with spiky ears, pointed wings, and long, slashing fingers swooped down just long enough to snatch a weapon, scratch a limb, or set something new on fire. The children were helping to put out smaller blazes as they occurred, but the smoke would soon overwhelm these Clearwater heroes, who’d been fighting for hours now.

Danny set his jaw and inched forward. Oh, this steeply sloped roof was a  _ terrible _ place to do this, but half of the battleground was obscured, and he had to get closer….

_ There. _

He nocked an arrow. Drew his bow.

_ I am  _ not _ experienced enough for this. _

Let it fly.

A demon fell like a stone from the sky above Tailor to collide with another at his feet. Puzzled, he glanced for just a second in the direction of Danny’s arrow. Danny smiled nervously and waved hello.

A child screamed from the roof of the Darzons’ house, which was quite suddenly under siege by two flying demons. As quickly as he could with a longbow, Danny took down one demon, then a window, a potted plant, and the other. He cursed himself and swore he’d fix those immediately once all these demons were gone.

_ “Heh heh heh heh.” _

Danny looked up. A demon hovered ten feet ahead of him. His eyes widened.

“Oh… you  _ are _ that ugly.”

The demon’s hands sparked just as Danny drew back the string of his bow, and they each fired at the same time. The arrow, catching aflame as it whizzed through the blast, sent the demon flying backwards, howling in pain as it died; the spell itself missed its target by just a few inches, brushing the surface of the wooden tiled roof.

Danny’s breath hissed through his teeth. The wood beneath him began to crackle, and he could barely angle his boots to stomp it out. He had to concentrate on shooting down demons and pray that this smolder didn’t become a blaze--it was all he  _ could _ do now.

By his count, he took down seven more before the dragon showed up.

 

 

 

“So.”

“Hey, Rhen.”

“Hey, Danny.”

She took his normal greeting as an indication that she could smile at him, he guessed, and he reminded himself that he needed to want to move on just as much as she did. He smiled back. Being happy for people was an important life skill.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he said. “We were starting to miss you.”

“It always takes a mortal crisis,” she joked back. There was bitterness in there, resignation. She wasn’t asking him to press, though.

“I know it probably sounds like a silly question, but… where did you go this time?”

“Umm.” Rhen bit her lip, leaning back against the maypole. “Not a silly question. Just a difficult one to answer.”

“I know… um… last time we spoke, I was kind of cold about it,” sighed Danny. “But that was pretty stupid of me. I really want to hear about where you’ve been and what you do. I’m lucky as anyone in the world to be friends with such a butt-kicking explorer.”

Rhen smiled. “All right. To sum up, I left here and then I went to pirate jail. And then I went inside an underground demon cave fortress and then inside a lamp and then to a sexy birthday party and then to Aveyond and then to where the fairies live.”

Danny stared at her.

“So why don’t you just go on and rank those in order of which ones you believe most to least? I’ll fetch a quill.”

“You know what?” Danny shook his head. “I’ll wait for the novelization.”

“That’s not a half-bad idea.”

The artificial rain was slowing now, and Danny could feel the eyes of its green-haired summoner boring into the back of his neck. He’d already given himself enough of a beating for leaving her, and the situation had caused him plenty of pain as it was. He was pretty sure he didn’t deserve the extra pressure. He looked to the top of the maypole, watching the slow drops fan to the edges of his vision from a murky grey sky. Not quite clean yet.

“I saw you picking off those flying demons,” commented Rhen, her voice buoyant, the way he remembered her. “Danny with a bow! That’s a sight!”

“It feels pretty fantastic,” he admitted.

“You know, if you’re interested in some  _ really _ masterful archery training, one of my new traveling companions--”

“No.”

Rhen looked a little shocked as Danny rubbed his eyes. “What? Sorry?”

“Look--thank you, Rhen, but I… and my life… need to be separate. From you and from yours.”

They were both silent for a moment. Rhen looked at the lightly muddy ground.

“Right,” she said softly. “This is… your… your thing to figure out.”

“Yeah.”

To his surprise, she smiled at him. “Well, when you figure your things out, you do a damn fine job, you know. I wish you could have seen yourself posed like that on your knee on the roof like you were in an epic tapestry or something. I’m not trying to meddle; I just want to tell you, just--just to make sure that somebody does.”

His nose stung, so he smiled a little too hard and glanced away. “I’ll take that.”

“Danny!”

Tailor jogged down to the maypole from the northeastern stairs, giving Rhen a brief, tender look, and Danny stood alert. “Mr. Darzon! I--I’m sorry about your window; I--”

“That’s--what, no--” Tailor scratched his head and made a puzzled face. “The mayor wants to see you right away. We need another body to lead the rebuilding effort in the village. There’s too much for me to handle alone, since I’ll be leading defenses as well.”

“Wait.” Danny blinked. The warmth which had been blurring and melting through his nerves coalesced in his face. “Me?”

“Who else? You’ve done more work around this village than half the adults twice your age, lad.” Tailor smiled. “You may as well have built these houses from the ground. Will you come home?”

“I’m not going anywhere, sir.”

“Good,” said Tailor. “This will be your project, so you know. The people, the materials, the jobs, all of it. You know best. Do you know where to start?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, confident. “Absolutely. Most of what we’ll be dealing with here will be superficial damage as long as we catch it soon--oh, and I know when we can get parts from the southern trading post.”

“Excellent. The mayor will want to hear that. Come on.” Tailor patted him on the back. With one backward glance at Rhen as she signaled for Peter, Danny jogged for the stairs to the highest peak of Clearwater to once more see the smoke of his own chimneys.


End file.
